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Join Notes from Vivace in this four part write-up of his journey through Sevilla, Spain as he explores it’s historical streets without a smartphone and attempts to find it’s local music scene. Part II will be up on Tuesday April 19th.
A little over a year ago, I read a book called “Peace Be Upon You: Fourteen Centuries of Muslim, Christian, and Jewish Conflict and Cooperation” by Zachary Karabell. The result was a fascination with Andalusia, specifically with Córdoba. I decided I was going to take a vacation in Andalusia. While doing my research on Córdoba, I ran into a problem: via Expedia, all flights came into Sevilla and from there it appeared I’d need to take a bus or train to Córdoba. I do love to travel, but I lack a gene for great adventures. Coming into Spain after 20 hours plus of getting myself to the airport, sitting in the cramped quarters of an airplane, running through airport terminals/concourses, having a lack of sleep and then trying to find my way to a bus or train to get to Córdoba just didn’t hold much of an appeal. So I decided that since the planes landed in Sevilla that would be my headquarters for my six days in Andalusia.
Los Angeles in the Wee Hours
A Friday morning arrived and my alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. I jumped out of bed like a rocket and I couldn’t help but wonder if my upstairs neighbors were a bit irritated – but considering that they often have a desire to play the piano at 7 a.m. on a Saturday, I figured all was fair. The first morning bus that would take me on my journey to LAX was at 5 a.m. I piled some final items into my suitcase, ate a quick continental breakfast and headed out the door. There is nothing really interesting going on at 5 a.m. except for the occasional car driving past (see picture on right). So I was glad when I found brief amusement while waiting at a red light. An SUV pulled to a stop. The driver was in an apparent rush to make a left hand turn. Instead of just running the red light, the driver made a right hand turn, did a three point turn and then headed in the correct direction. I half wondered what the driver would have done if the street light had turned red – probably would have ran the light and nearly run me over while I was crossing.
The bus arrived with a handful of people on board. It never got crowded during the trip to downtown Los Angeles, but there were enough people on the bus to make me wonder why so many people woke up so early. In general, folks got off in the Jewelry District between 4th and 5th Streets. My other interesting observation in the wee morning hours was when we got to 7th Street, my departure point. Two of us got up to exit the bus. The driver called back to us as the bus waited at a red light, “Do you want to get off now or on the other side of the street?” I indicated I’d wait, the other passenger said he’d get off now. The doors opened. The light turned green, the bus drove a few yards and I got off on the other side of the street. As I headed up to the 7th Street Metro, I noticed the other guy crossing to my side of the street. And well, eventually, I figured out that I also needed to cross to the other side of the street to enter the 7th Street Metro stop. We had each gotten off on the wrong side of the street.
Once at LAX, I was expecting to see those body scans that were causing passenger protests, but either I wasn’t asked to use one or LAX hadn’t yet installed them.
Chicago
While at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport I sat next to an inspiring singer and her teacher. The young lady spoke in Spanish, the teacher replied in English. I was taking Iberian Airlines to Spain and so all the announcements were first made in Spanish and then in English. With all this Spanish being spoken, I started to get the sense that I was really off on my vacation.
While boarding the plane, I got to my seat and an elderly man was sitting in my seat. The jet was nearly empty (which I found strange considering how you read that airlines pack their jets full of passengers). I’m like, That’s just stupid, you can’t just find your own seat. I figured out later that his family was in the row in front of my seat. I felt a little guilty and was going to offer to exchange seats with him, but since the flight was only about 25% full everyone eventually moved around to create their own personal airline jet beds – almost like flying in first class. At this point, it was near 3 p.m. Los Angeles time, but around 5 p.m. Chicago time. When I arrived in Chicago, it was late afternoon and the sun was out. As we were leaving, I looked out the window and it was dark. I was thinking, What’s going on with that. Why is it so dark outside? It’s the middle of the afternoon. And then it dawned on me that it was nearing 5 p.m. in Chicago. This brought on a sense of confusion, which would continue.
That was a small shock, but a bigger shock happened next. As we were preparing for take-off; elevator music, Muzak, blasted through the airplane cabin. What? This vacation was starting off on the wrong foot. And to make matters worse, the airplane looked old and worn down compared to the jet I’d taken previously while flying across the Atlantic. There was no private video screen on the back of the seats so that I could spend my time watching movies or television sitcoms of my choice. Instead, we all got to watch “Salt” (not that I didn’t enjoy seeing “Salt” in the theater) on drop down screens that were so bad that at times all you’d see was Angelina Jolie against a background of white.
Madrid
The Iberian jet left Chicago behind schedule. Being my mathematical self, I started to do some calculations in my head. We were flying into Madrid and from there I was supposed to catch a flight to Sevilla. I only had an hour to get to my connecting flight. Was I going to need to go through customs? If so, I doubted very much that I’d make it to my connecting flight. Maybe I went through customs in Sevilla? That might make better sense. I felt like asking one of the flight attendants if I might miss my connecting flight, but decided not to do so. As we debarked from the plane, I saw two Iberian employees surrounded by fellow fliers. I decided I better join in on the conversation. “Sevilla?” I asked. “Talk to her,” was the response. I went to the other Iberian employee, “What’s your surname, please?” I gave it to her. “Here’s your new boarding pass. You now leave at 11:50 a.m.” (Note the time – a.m. versus p.m.) Now not only was my vacation getting off on the wrong foot by Iberian blasting Muzak and by them making Angelina Jolie look like a ghost at times, but now I was a bit angry. Why hadn’t they said anything before we landed that folks on their way to Sevilla were going to get assigned to another flight? I tried to think through the flight to try and recall if anything was announced over the speakers – even in Spanish – but nothing came to mind (though I suppose it could have happened while I was sleeping). What’s up with this Iberian Airlines? I could have gone running through the Madrid Airport, trying to get to my flight, only to learn after stressing myself out that they’d already taken care of me. I was simply left with an if-you-feel-you-won’t-make-your-flight-and-then-if-you-see-one-of-our-employees-at-the-gate-make-sure-you-talk-to-that-person attitude. (I later determined that there were probably ten of us that missed our flight to Sevilla – one was a college kid who was flipping through a college schedule, making me think she was going to spend a quarter or two in Sevilla learning Spanish, lucky girl.)
In fact, that initial one hour break would not have been enough time to catch my flight to Sevilla (so perhaps Expedia is to blame). We had to re-check carry-ons and there was a crowd in front of me. At this point, I started to get a feel for Spanish culture. I’d read that queuing was very important in Spain and you better watch it less you accidentally cut in line and get called out for it. Well, I’m not so sure that brief read was all that accurate. Oh, they loved to queue, but as I stood in line, I started to notice folks sneaking past me. It got to the point where I decided no more. When we got to the tables where the bins were, I noticed one couple grabbing a couple bins for their shoes and make an attempt to cut in front of me. I refused to let them do so, compromising my comfort level with personal boundaries by sticking as close as possible to the folks in front of me.
That didn’t stop one woman who jumped way in front of us all. She tossed her things on the x-ray machine – who cares about putting your stuff in a bin, just toss it onto the conveyor belt. When she went through the metal detector she set the detector off and was waved back. She whipped off her belt and tossed it atop the rest of her stuff. She still set off the metal detector and got herself a full body search.
There is more on this queuing in Spain. As we waited to board the Iberian flight to Sevilla, folks began to line up to board the plane well in advance of any announcement from the Iberian employees. I decided I better do what every single Spanish citizen seemed to be doing and scurried into the line. A trio of other Americans also rushed into line. I over-heard them talking to each other. “They really get in line early here, don’t they?” “Yes, but I figured I’d better get in line, as well. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
Sevilla
As the plane landed in Sevilla, I looked out the window and it was pouring rain. This wasn’t a surprise. I knew in advance to expect rain every single day of my trip. Once off the plane, I headed towards the tourist office in the airport. I was told where to catch the airport bus to Sevilla and that I was to take the city Bus C3 (which was just a corner’s throw away from where the airport bus stopped) from there. Everything seemed to be coming together. And in reality, it wasn’t that bad that the Chicago flight had gotten delayed, because if I’d caught the earlier Sevilla flight I probably would have gotten to my hotel a couple hours before the check-in time. That feeling that everything was improving ended once I got onto the bus. The bus was packed with fellow tourists. Suit cases all over. The driver used a towel to defrost the windshield. And as we drove towards Sevilla, the driver had to yell out the street stops (admittedly, Los Angeles bus drivers have to do this sometimes, as well; but isn’t public transportation supposed to be better in Europe). Luckily, I didn’t have to get off until the last stop — though even when we got to the last stop I was dependent on a kind tourist who informed me that we were at the last stop. If I had needed to get off at one of the other stops, I’m rather sure I’d have gotten off at the wrong stop. (Random side notes: Interestingly, as my eyes wondered around the bus, I noticed various folks with guide books – all the guide books were in English even while the folks reading them were conversing in other languages. Also, I noticed one individual using GPS on his smart phone. Listening to our driver yelling in Spanish, I started to have smart phone envy.)
At the last stop, us remaining tourists exited near Plaza de Juan de Austria. At this point, I found myself in a state of confusion. There are numerous plazas in Sevilla and they all have numerous streets that shoot off from them. My sense of direction was totally messed up at this point in time. And to make matters worse it was still pouring rain (I was smart enough to have packed an umbrella). In my confused, lack of sleep, clouded mind mentality it looked like there were 8 roads spreading out from this plaza (in reality, it was 4 roads that had dividers down the middle) and I simply could not locate the street names. I was frozen.
Almost immediately, I gave up on the thought of trying to find this Bus C3 (luckily, I knew my hotel was close so walking it wouldn’t be an issue). Taking the bus or walking it, it didn’t matter; I still needed to get my bearings. I walked one way, trying to find a street name. I couldn’t find one so I returned to my starting point. I looked at the map I had gotten at the tourist office and tried to figure out which side of the plaza I was on. I headed in another direction (which was actually the correct direction in the end) and tried to find a street sign – no luck. I returned to the bus stop where the I-really-need-to-invest-in-a-GPS-system thought popped into my head numerous times. I went another way and finally found a street sign, but then I couldn’t locate the street sign on my map. In this wandering, I noticed a few fellow passengers under various coverings, waiting out the rain. I went back to the bus stop and then headed off in another direction. Finally, I found a street sign that matched a street sign on my map and that was that, I had my compass set. And so I headed off towards my hotel. (Side note: What would have been really helpful is if I’d known that streets highlighted in yellow on the map meant that those were pedestrian or metro streets only.)
First Expedition into the City
I came to the belief that since I’d found my hotel that meant I’d gotten my bearings in regards to the streets of Sevilla. Heck, in my previous vacation to Prague, I had kind of gotten the hang of the place once I found my hotel – not that I hadn’t gotten lost, but I hadn’t gotten LOST. That belief didn’t last very long. I decided to head out to the Muralla Arabe – Arab Wall (the rain had turned into a light drizzle by this point in the day). My basic impression of Sevilla is that there is a core center where the majority of the tourist spots are. Around this core is a street (by various names) that circles it. So I decided to walk this main street. At some point, I decided that this was stupid and it was time to cut into the center of the city and just see what Sevilla was really like. I cut into the core of the city on a street that I believe is called Santa Lucia. At this point the map became totally useless. What seemed like every 50 meters or so the street names changed. I soon became completely lost and disconnected from my map. I finally found my way to a plaza that I could locate on my map.
At this point, another mis-adventure in Sevilla popped up. My shoes were soaked. I had thought my shoes were water proof, but that was obviously false advertising and my right foot was in pain; later that night, I discovered that it was the sign of my first – note the use of the word ‘first’ – blister.
Now the problem (or perhaps the excitement) of being in Sevilla at first is this fact: it is impossible to get your bearings in the core of Sevilla. Sevilla is a densely populated city. On both sides of nearly all the streets are buildings that are four or five stories high. It is impossible to aim for a landmark. The most famous spot in Sevilla is the Cathedral. Once you’re 100 meters away from the Cathedral, it is impossible to spot. So here I was at this plaza, using my map to determine the direction I needed to head towards. Off I went. A couple minutes passed and I end up . . . back at the plaza. I decided I’d just taken the wrong route . . . maybe I’d gotten my map turned around and had gone down the wrong street. So I took another look at my map and decided on a more appropriate street . . . I end up back at the plaza. Once is amusing. Twice is funny. The third time . . . curse words. I wasn’t the only lost tourist. All three times I saw the same couple. Finally, I decided I was just going to concentrate as hard as possible and head in one direction as much as possible. I didn’t care where I ended up, just as long as I ended up at that one major street that circles the core area. Oh . . . I made it back to the main street alright . . . right back to the exact spot where I’d decided to enter into the neighborhood (the infamous Santa Lucia). Oh well, I continued on my way along the major street until I got to Muralla Arabe.
Music
Now TRAffIK does have a focus on music and so here is my first music adventure.
Strike 1: During my wanderings that first day, I saw posters featuring a band called Marcus Doo and the Secret Family that was playing at the Fun Club on the 26th. Hey, that’s today, I thought. I was going to check it out. After finding my way back to my hotel and cleaning up, I headed off to the Fun Club (which I was able to find with only minor difficulties — pat myself on the back for that one). I got there and the doors were closed. No one was around. I was like, What? And then it dawned on me. Wait, it isn’t the 26th, it’s the 27th!!! I’d left Los Angeles on the 26th and now it was the 27th. Just wonderful. Not all was lost. I did locate a vegetarian restaurant next to the Fun Club that I would later visit. So here’s looking at you Marcus Doo and the Secret Family. You ever make it out to Los Angeles, I’d like to catch your set. Put me on the guest list. I think I deserve it.
Here is a video from Marcus Doo and the Secret Family:
Check back next Tuesday to see if Notes from Vivace has better luck finding the music scene in Sevilla in Part II of this four part series.
